Deadly Sins
by Wespe
Summary: "You might even go as far to say that I am "nice guy." Though, personally, I feel myself morally corrupted on the inside. But who doesn't at some point in their life, right? Surely, I'm not the only one who feels guilty about the pleasures of the flesh?"


I smell her sweet aroma as my hand slides down her slender waist. Her blonde hair is whisking slightly in the wind as a cold breeze rolls in from the north. She is beautiful, in every sense of the word. Those big, moist lips perfectly set against her oval face were irresistible.

I run my hand on her shoulders. She shivers a bit. I do not if it is from the wind or my touch that she reacts this way. I like to think it was the wind.

I had known her for a long time now; four years to be precise. She and I had spent many intimate moments together chatting. We had tried dating before, but it had never panned out. She was always busy doing something or another with some other guy. I let her go and do as she wished.

It was not until recently, though, that we started to become romantically involved. After she and her recent boyfriend had had a spat she had left him for good. I did not object. Her former boyfriend was a jerk anyway; an abusive child at best. I'm glad she left him.

Perhaps I'm being selfish for not doing more to prevent it. However, for now, it doesn't matter, I have her all for myself; every atom of her, at least for tonight. How I plan to relish in it too.

I am not an impetuous person by nature. I do not seek pleasures for the thrill, or the chase, or the reward. Life, after all, is something to be enjoyed. A prized object to be pondered and reflected upon, like a fine cup of wine at a soiree. Not to be gulped down, in earnest, for the intoxicating quality of the liquid, but to be appreciated for what it is. Not squandered away on cheap thrills or momentary pleasures

You might even go as far to say that I am "nice guy." Though, personally, I feel myself morally corrupted on the inside. But who doesn't at some point in their life, right? Surely, I'm not the only one who feels guilty about the pleasures of the flesh?

That is not to say, however, this is the reason I pursued her; quite the opposite, in fact. It was her grace and her civility, not her good looks that first led me to her. I had seen her, one face in the lot that one spring day in Freshman year, and decided to talk to her.

I knew from the beginning that I loved her. Whether I immediately recognized it, remains to be seen. Looking back on it now, I can say with a degree of certainty, that the emotions and depth of feelings I felt for here were genuine. A deep satisfaction of the soul that one hardly ever finds in another's company. In this matter, I considered myself fortunate to have met that person early on.

It helped a great deal in over-coming my social anxiety to know that there was at least one person in the world who would listen to me. A kind voice that would offer me some sympathy. After all, one does not become a normal member of society again after being "the kid who hunts aliens" in elementary school. It just doesn't happen.

That's why, for once, it was refreshing to hear the "other side" of my conscience speaking to me. She had such a down-to-earth sense of existence that I could not help but see myself in her and feel a connection to reality that I had never felt before.

These conversations of ours made me realize, that there was more to life than what I saw. That maybe it was better not to worry overly much about "saving the world" every now and again. People, usually, can handle themselves.

And why I am on the subject, those "people," who I have the courteous disgrace to call my class-mates, are some of the lowest forms of being. They only way I could ever characterize them, is as ugly, contentious, narcissistic, and cruel. Their pettiness boggles the mind. It was not until I realized this, after watching an unfortunate event of father breeding at least four bastards, all while in school, that I came to understand the cruel facts of life.

These, and other blatant acts of immorality, made me do a lot of introspection on my part. It made me come to the conclusion, that in a world full of unfaithful people, and that it is god-send to be the who is. It makes me all the more determined to keep this special connection between and her and I alive. After all, will one not stand up for what is right?

You might call me a sentimentalist, or you might say I'm trying to cover up the guilt of my own short-comings. To tell the truth, I almost think it's a combination of the two, and I'm not vain enough to deny that. I am human, to say the least. The crucial detail in all this though, is my love for her. She is my angel, my darling, my sunshine. She gives me a smile every time I see her. I cherish her, more than all the treasure in the world; which brings me back to what I am doing presently.

I did not wish to let her think that I was only interested in her for the obvious reason that most men are engrossed in women. I wanted to show her how much I cared. I had invited her over for dinner tonight. It was a date of sorts, a nice quiet evening at my home, just to share between us. I like it that way. It keeps unwanted eyes from pressing themselves into something that's not their business.

I planned the evening strategically. My sister was away for the weekend, off doing whatever she was doing, and my dad, as usually, was at work. I had the entire house to myself. So I went about setting the place, making everything perfect for my darling.

I went ahead and had "commandeered" one of my father's lesser-known vintages from his wine cellar. I knew he did not care much for Rhineland wines, or anything German, to say the least. He was a staunch believer in the supremacy of all French alcoholic beverages to those of the Germanic persuasion and had arranged his collection suitably. The only reason he had this particular brand on his shelf at all was to mark the day when he could no longer call himself a man (which was the day he swore he would drink German wine).

Wines aside, I also ordered two lean cuts from the local catering company. The steaks in question arrived on a silver platter with all the trimmings, complete with a special device to keep them warm until they wished to be eaten.

Finally, I had dawned on my sharpest suit, after having a trim, and sleeking my hair "in the style," so as not to appear ungenteel. Looking at myself in the mirror, I looked like some enlivened millionaire who had just come into inheritance. I entertained that notion a bit, as I certainly did feel, as many people put it "like a million buck." I did not let myself be deceived. I knew the image staring back at me was not the true me.

Everything was ready for the perfect. It did surprise me, though, when it began to rain, and I had to pick up my fairest at her mother's doorstep, clad in a blue dress, and carry her bridal style across the mud. While I might have, from a by-standers point of view, consider this a gallant of chauvinistic chivalry, I thought of it, at the time, as a back pain.

When we arrived back at my abode, I was amply shocked to find that I had accidentally changed the settings on the device that was meant to keep the cuts warm. Instead of delicious steak underneath the silver platter, I instead found only dried and shriveled pork-chops of what use to be a fine meal.

I had also discovered, to my horror, that I had also left the steamer on, which I used to press my suits. Had it not been for my speedy arrival home, I might have well come home to no home at all, since a flame had already partially engulfed the steaming board.

At this point, in the evening, I was of the opinion, that this night had been an utter disaster. However, my fairest, always the voice of reason, merely laughed and shrugged it off. We spent the later part of the dusk huddled together on the couch, clad in undergarments beneath a warm blanket, watching DVDs on the living room television, and eating microwave ramen.

Not to say we planned to do anything sexual. Though, I had set aside contraceptives for that very purpose, the night before (should the need arise). I did not plan for it to be so. I am a man of principle, after all. To do so, on my own initiation, would have been one of the gravest wrongs which I could have dreamed of.

This, however, did not stop me from allow it on her initiation. What would you have me admit? That I did not honestly want it? Of course I did. What man doesn't? It is restraint, though, that makes us humans superior to animals, the ability to resist our primal urges and say: "no".

Restraint, nevertheless, is very hard to exercise on one's own fortitude, especially when the object of your desire is rubbing bare flesh against yours. Needless to say, the temptation became overly-great for me, and I felt myself nestling her neck more and more until I found I was licking my entire tongue over the course of her nape.

It was at that point I remember; she turned on the couch to face me. I looked deep into her piecing auburn eyes, so beautifully majestic. I felt an overwhelming sense of love in my chest as I gently laid my lips on her forehead, and tasted her softness.

I looked back into those eyes of hers, which now seemed to be intrinsically focused on me. I felt the entire universe at that instant descend into a sense of an abyss where only she and I existed. Nothing else seemed to matter as time seemed to come to a progressive stop, the flux of the universe unexplainably halted in our wake.

I suddenly felt her wrap her arms around me though, and her face descended into my naked shoulder. She started crying, her small frame body shaking forcibly as deep sobs erupted from her as hot tears streamed down my skin.

I was unsure of what I felt. A part of me looked down with pity and with remorse, while another part of me with alarm. What caused this sudden out-break? I dismissed it, for the time being, and sufficed the moment, by laying my arm around her and whispering reassurances into her unusually small ears.

When she had regained enough composure, she looked into my eyes yet again, now swollen red and puffy with tears. She whispered to me, in a faint, cracking voice, barely audible. "I love you Dib."

I felt such a rush of emotions come over, that the feeling was hard to recall. I picked her up and brought her near the window and gazed once more into her face

To my dissatisfaction, those tears had still not left her eyes. I looked on her with genuine concern. "'What's wrong?" I asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No" she said, "Not you." She choked off another sob before turning to look out the window.

I stand behind her, my hands firmly around her waist, my lips trailing against her ears. "Tell me what's the matter. You can trust me, can't you?"

Her voice cracked as she tries to form her words. "Dib...I'm so sorry?"

"Why, what's the matter?" I asked teasingly.

She turns away again. "I don't want to tell you." she says in a small voice.

"You can tell me anything. Don't you know that?"

She squeaks out in a high voice, "You promise not to get mad?"

"Of course."

"I'm...I'm..."

"Yes, what?"

"I'm not a virgin anymore..."

I stood there in complete shock. My hands slowly descend from her waist and find their place by my side. I tighten my hands into fists. I felt pain and indignation. A fire inside my bosom ignited into a fiery inferno and roasted my heart alive. The unbearable turmoil of this betrayal filled my soul with anger. That magic place that we had ascended to came spiraling down and shattered into a thousand pieces around me. As I stood there in the still summer night, the crickets chirping out side, the only word I could form from my mouth way: "Who?"

She looked back at me, her eyes bearing as much pain as I surely felt. Fresh tears began to instantly emerge and streak down her face. In that one moment she whispered that name I had dread to hear: "Zim."


End file.
